Below is a post written on December 19, 2019 and forgotten about until I re-opened my blog 3 years later. Wise Nur Banu of the past, thanks for this reminder. I love you.

Okay I get it now. I get it! I know I am too old to get this just now, considering the topic has been on my mind forever, but I get it. 

There is always friction in how we interpret what happens to us. First, we think, does this even have meaning? Can I attach some sort of explanation to the things that happen in my life or are they absolutely random and chaotic and devoid of meaning anything other than a cosmic joke.

Then we think, did my Maker mean for me to fail so that I could try again or so that I let go of what I am trying? What’s the play here? Edison tried a thousand times! He didn’t give up. Is my thousand and his thousand the same? Maybe the right thing for me would have been to give up after 5 times or 10 times. How do I know?

I go through the world with this immense need that things should make sense. They should have meaning, they should say something. They should point to something other than themselves, because if they do not, they are just completely contingent acts of the cosmos. Especially the things that happen to me, the things I do, the things I succeed at and the things I am no master of – I always expect them to carry a signpost or a little metaphorical letter which explains why they are happening.

I want to speak to your manager, life event, point me in His direction!

Taking a class, pursuing a career, entering a relationship, praying for something very specific – in my ideal world, my ideal self is extremely cognizant all the time. She never acts from impulse or desire or wishfulness. She is careful and exacting. She thinks things through and she reflects. She reflects on meta-meta-meta levels. She has an impulse? She asks – why do I have this impulse? Who gave me this impulse? What might be the reason for me having this impulse and what is the reason for also wanting to fulfill this impulse? Is there a deeper need than this superficial desire, or is there an eternal that I am supposed to chase here?

Of course, and unfortunately, in this world, here and now, I am not my ideal self. I am some aspirational Nur Banu, looking at the ideal Nur Banu and thinking, I can implement that line of thinking sometimes. Like right now. I will choose to. 

When I was in the eighth grade, I fell in love. Not with one of my classmates at school or some older kid from my neighborhood. I fell in love with the internationally renowned soccer player Leo Messi. I was never, for one second, doubtful of the love I felt for this man. Even though he was a decade older than me, did not speak English, and had such a life and career trajectory ahead of him that it was almost 100% certain that our paths would never cross. And yet, this did not deter me. Even now, you see, I said almost 100%, because don’t know the future, and all I needed was that tiny margin afforded by the “almost.”

For the three years that followed my initial love at first sight encounter with Leo (thanks to fifa.com), I planned and prayed pretty religiously (in all senses of that term) to make sure that I could also draw myself a life trajectory that would result in my entrance into Leo's inner circle and ultimately conclude with our falling in love and getting married. Now I know everyone wants the spicy details of my eighth-grade-self's inner life and romantic awakening, but alas, I have to zoom in on the prayer aspect of this vignette to make my point.

I grew up in a religious and academically leaning family. What this means is that, my dad is a professor of Islamic philosophy and considers watching soccer, reality TV, and all the other mindless pleasures of life as ultimately useless for beautifying one's soul. His ideal day is spent reading, writing when inspiration strikes (thanks to the Divine), and then reading some more. My mom, although not an ivory tower academic, is an intensely reflective person and probably has the purest heart in the world. She is the kind of person that can give you spiritual insight after she sees a tiny seedling sprouting from the trunk of a freshly-cut tree. 

So I grew up with a very interesting mix of religious instruction that was age-appropriate but still highly cerebral. As a kid, I always had this evangelical zeal (which kids easily take to), and the confidence of a gifted elementary schooler whose dad worked in a university. I didn't even know what PhD's really were, but my dad had one, and that meant I had knowledge on my side and under the palm of my hand.

Oh you have a question about what? I'll ask my dad. That's his specialty.

This continued well into my early high school years, at which point I was violently shaken out of my self-inflicted dogmatism and learned to finally lean into not knowing things and questioning everything I thought I knew, as my parents had intended for me to do.

Now, being a delusional fangirl is bad, but it is exponentially worse, when you also take into account that I was a tiny evangelical. I don't mean this in a proselytizing sense. I mean this in the, I-was-100%-certain-of-what-I-believed-and-no-epistemologist-stood-a-chance-against-me sense. It did not matter that I was 13, I was a believer through and through, and I would have been damned if I did not pray, every day, ritually, that I meet and marry the man of my dreams: Leo Messi.

Let me also do some justice to my younger self by saying, I was no simple-minded imitator. I was a Stoic theologian in the making. A true kalam scholar. A sufi in disguise. I did not pray simply for things I wanted. I sidled up to God and asked, "Lord, you know me best and I know you love me. You have created me and keep sustaining me. Please make Leo Messi what is best for me. Ameen."

You see, I was humble too, and that's what I love about younger me. She knew that she didn’t know what's best for her. So she concocted the perfect template of prayer. Like a sneaky corporate lawyer who has found all the loopholes that maximize profit, she played into all the spiritual tropes she had learned, in all the right ways. 

"Please test me with gratitude and give me all the bounties."

Test me, but by giving too much! Thank you, God!

It should also not come as a surprise when I say that it is not easy to navigate through middle school with such obsession and dedication to what is, essentially, a fantasy. Of course, middle school is hard as it is, what with everyone going through puberty and picking on each other. And even though I was disheartened and upset about almost every other part of my life, like the way I physically took up space and the fact that my family couldn't afford expensive locker magnets, I still never gave up on this specific dream. 

My Facebook name was Nur Banu Messi and I was convinced that it would legally become my name soon enough. What did these middle schoolers understand of my love and dedication? After all, God was looking at how committed I was to this idea. And committed I was.

And yes, I was aware of the verse, "But perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you. And God Knows, while you know not" (2:216). And that is why I continued to pray, relentlessly, that Messi would be good for me.

Make him good for me, God. I love him! You know my heart and you know I love him because you are All-Knowing! *wink wink*

Now, I am 22-years-old. Now, I do not love Leo Messi. Now, I am going to graduate school, studying philosophy, and living in the garbage capital of the world (New York City). Now, I have different aspirations. Now, I am much less certain about a whole lot of things. 

But the things I am certain about, I really am. My reality is that I am infinitely and eternally needy and weak. I require so much just to stay alive, and then require that much more to thrive. I need attention and love and friends and family and knowledge and music and beauty and ideas bizarre and concrete and, and, and, and... 

When I do something, anything, the road diverges into two. On the one hand, I must try and keep going. My Maker wants to see me try. My Maker wants to see me put in the effort. And on the other, if I fail, I fail. My Maker is signaling me to look elsewhere. Peep through other open doors. Step in different directions. 

I realize now, and this is what this whole post is about, the way I respond is in line with that famous hadith, "I am as My servant thinks I am." The way I interpret what happens to me and what I do with my life is the way the universe unfolds before me. There is so much power in the connection I form with my Creator. So much hangs on that momentary but continuous interpretation and re-interpretation of the now. 

Because that hadith continues like this, "I am with him when he makes mention of Me. If he makes mention of Me to himself, I make mention of him to Myself; and if he makes mention of Me in an assembly, I make mention of him in an assembly better than it. And if he draws near to Me an arm's length, I draw near to him a cubit, and if he draws near to Me a cubit, I draw near to him a fathom. And if he comes to Me walking, I go to him at speed."

So if I choose to keep trying or if I choose to try a different path, it's the view of my Maker that makes all the difference. I fail and I say, this is an act of grace, and I must change my course. Or, I fail, and I say, I must work harder because I am closer to what I wished from when I had started. There are still ways to pray that are sweetly mischievous though, no doubt about that.

Make me want what you want, God. Make it so that my will aligns with Your Will. Make it so that I am content and grateful wherever I am and whenever I am. Ameen. Ameen. Ameen.